


Goodbye

by Aluxra



Series: Goodbye, Hello Again [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet, Implied Relationships, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 05:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11411322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aluxra/pseuds/Aluxra
Summary: Jesse leaves Overwatch. Genji won't let him go without saying goodbye.





	Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> [Original Posted:](http://aluxra.tumblr.com/post/150970135607/goodbye) Sep 26th, 2016
> 
> This is pretty much my headcanon for how Jesse left Overwatch.
> 
> I also headcanon that Jesse and Genji always had a lot of “are they/aren’t they” speculations about them, but they are best described by that “we never dated, but maybe he was an ex-something: an ex-almost, an ex-maybe” quote instead of actually anything confirmed
> 
> Also, I wrote this before the uprising comic revealed Genji's blackwatch look, but I'm 90% -ish sure that there was either promo art or something that showed Genji in his current armour out on missions with Overwatch? I know the team at Blizzard don't exactly give us 100% set lore and there's a lot of retconning/demurring on things, but I'm still going to roll with it so //shrugs//
> 
> Enjoy xXx

He left around seven, when everyone was still clearing up in the mess hall; once the main hub of life and soul in the whole organisation, every evening filled the hall with laughter and chatter, shouts and jokes hurled the full width and length of the room alongside makeshift projectiles between agents. Now it was smothered in a heavy melancholy, the quiet before the storm as if everyone waited, holding their breath, for the next fight among the ranks, among command. The shadows darkened the hall a little more than usual these days, the fluorescent lights overhead glaring artificially, casting a washed out yellow hue over the room and it’s occupants: even the buildings were infected with the insidious sickness that had seeped into Overwatch over the years; stage four, incurable. Only thing left was to organise any remaining affairs with the time left, tie up loose ends and say all the goodbyes, make peace with the end.

Never one for goodbyes, Jesse McCree slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, shuffling his crimson red serape under it till everything sat comfortable, and looked around the spartan room one last time: the bed was stripped bare, the pillows and quilt folded at the head of the bed, the set of shelves, the desktop and the drawers’ surfaces had been emptied and wiped down, looking almost new save for some scrapes and stains, the lacquer chipped away at the edges. The wardrobe doors hung ajar, but he made no move to close them, chewing the end of his cigarillo as he turned on his heel and walked out the bedroom, closing the door on the last fifteen years of his life.

His footsteps echoed up to the high ceilings and down the long, winding corridors as he made his way down to the front entrance, the stark, high walls and floor making him think of a mausoleum: just another place for the dead to rest, even when they don’t realise they’re dead. The night was cool, comfortable, when he stepped outside; a slight breeze rustled the grass and the dry brown leaves littering the front lawn. The full, late autumn moon hung just shy of the horizon, the only one witness to his departure, like the universe needed to take note, to remember one more lonely ghost drifting through the night: a nameless, faceless spectre among the decaying ruins that will eventually disappear in history.

The stone monument in the centre of the green depicting the Overwatch logo in black and gold shone under floodlights at the base, the smooth, polished stone awash with unfaltering white light, a beacon of hope in the darkness from afar. Up close, he could see the dirt and grit around the base, speckling the pale stone, weeds and lichen finding cracks and holes to burrow deep and thrive. He turned away from it, taking his time down the long path to the front gates, like he was just out for a pleasant evening stroll, just a man enjoying the clear, indigo night sky.

The front gate loomed in front of him just as he finished his cigarillo, and he stubbed it out on the wall, flicking it out into the darkness.

‘You shouldn’t litter,’ a voice chastised above him, and he looked up to see Genji perched on the top of the wall, the sleek metal plates and fibre mesh of his body highlighted with an otherworldly green from his suit. He hopped off the wall, landing lightly on the grass beside McCree, and straightened to his full height: he only just reached McCree’s shoulders.

‘It’s bad for the environment, you know,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest. His tone was light, conversational, the cybernetic voice box giving him a synthetic lilt under his natural voice.

‘You ain’t planning on grassin’ on me, now, are you?’ McCree asked, offering a half smile as Genji chuckled.

‘Always joking, cowboy,’ he said affectionately. ‘Of course you would have one more pun, before you leave.’

He glanced around McCree at his duffel bag. McCree shifted it further onto his shoulder.

‘Yeah,’ he said after a pause, scratching the back of his neck. ‘Yeah, I –’

‘Don’t cowboys usually ride away into the sunset?’ Genji teased, cocking his head to one side. ‘I thought you had an image to uphold.’

McCree huffed a laugh, easing along with the light banter. ‘What can I say, paperwork was a goddamn bitch to process. It’s like they don’t wanna make it easy to leave.’

‘You were not planning on saying goodbye?’

McCree paused.

‘Didn’t think it would make much difference,’ he said. Genji hummed, looking out through the solid metal bars of the gate to the road beyond it. Tall, thin streetlamps lined it like sentries on either side, casting a soft, eerie glow on the trees, highlighting the curling, ramshackle branches in soft smudges of grey-blue, like swirling ink on wet paper.

‘Not even a little bit?’ Genji asked. McCree stared at his profile in the dark, illuminated in a halo of soft, earthy green, the lines and angles of the cybernetic suit retaining something organic more than mechanical in its structure, a reminder of the man encased within the metal.

‘Well, you know me,’ he said, tipping his hat down over his eyes. ‘I’ve never been one for… sentimentality. Saying goodbye wouldn’t change the way things are going.’

‘I’ve found that goodbye’s aren’t for change,’ Genji replied, his voice soft as he turned his eyes skyward. ‘I’ve found they are an end, when nothing is left to be said or done.’

They lapsed into silence, the seconds stretching between them. Genji finally turned to look at McCree, and McCree could feel his gaze through the mask covering his face, dissecting him where he stood.

‘Well? No goodbye for me?’ he asked, the teasing edge returning to his tone, and McCree smiled, a small huff that could have been a laugh ghosting past his lips, scuffing his boot against the path. Handing in his “official” resignation that afternoon meant his affairs with Overwatch were in order, done and dusted: loose ends tied up, he made his peace with it and turned his back on it before it dragged him to the grave with it.

Except that wasn’t exactly true, when one last loose end stood right in front him, one with enough give to hang himself with it.

‘Don’t have to be,’ McCree offered, looking up at Genji under the brim of his hat. ‘Don’t have to be a goodbye.’

Genji said nothing, staring at McCree: even with the mask covering his face, Genji was incredibly expressive, and McCree already knew what Genji would say to his proposal.

‘I am sorry, McCree,’ he said, shaking his head, even though his shoulders slumped, his gaze falling to the path. ‘I am honour bound to Overwatch, until the end. Whatever that may be.’

‘C’mon, Genji, you don’t owe ‘em a damn thing,’ McCree argued.

Genji’s gaze snapped back to his face.

‘Is there already a “them”?’ he asked, tilting his head, birdlike. ‘Or, perhaps I should ask: how long has it been “them”?’

McCree sighed, removing his hat and scratching his hand through his hair.

‘You know what I mean,’ he said, donning his hat again. ‘If they gave you your life back, they did the same for me; by that, I’m just as honour bound to follow ‘em into the grave as you are and I just can’t do that. This ain’t what I signed up for: underhand dealings and cover ups, risking your life and never knowing who’s watching your back and who’s about to stab or shoot it. I’m not putting mysel' in a noose for them, so, yeah, maybe it is a “them”, I just don’t know how long it took me to realise it.’

He sighed. ‘And, shit, Genji, like I want the same to happen to you.’

‘Unfortunately, history has shown that I will blindly continue the same path until everything goes up in smoke around me,’ he said wryly, rubbing his neck. ‘Last time, it was quite literally.’

‘You got nothing to prove, Genji, staying here.’

‘I have nothing if I do not have my honour,’ he replied. ‘It is all that is left of the man I once was, and… I have nowhere else to go, if I do not have Overwatch.’

‘Hey, hold up, there,’ McCree said softly, raising his hand to cup Genji’s face, his fingertips skirting the edge of the mask, a silent question. ‘Now that just ain’t true.’

‘I’m afraid it is, Jesse,’ Genji replied, resting his hand over McCree’s, cool metal against warm leather, stopping him. ‘I would not belong anymore, no matter where I go.’

‘You might find yourself surprised,’ McCree said, trying not to beg: he had planned on leaving without anyone noticing or waylaying him. It was a cut and run deal: no looking back, no second chances, no new deals that could save him from life. Now that Genji stood in front of him, the expanse of the world outside the gates felt less appealing, going into it alone. He had been alone before, even with the Deadlock Gang: alone kept him safe, kept him alive. It would do the same thing now; protect him from the shit storm before it hit, or at least give him a head start from it, but alone almost didn’t feel worth it.

 _Almost_.

‘Would you find yourself surprised, if you decided to stay?’ Genji asked quietly.

McCree stared at Genji, a sudden, silent understanding overcoming him: Genji would not leave Overwatch, just as McCree would not - could not - stay. It hung unsaid between them, the one loose thread pulled taut, threatening to snap. He sensed Genji smiling through his mask, and Jesse knew he understood it too.

Genji turned his face towards Jesse’s hand, his thumb stroking the back of it. ‘You are a good man, Jesse McCree, do not let anyone tell you otherwise.’

‘Ah, damn, Genji, and you’re still a man under those cybernetics,’ McCree replied. He slung his bag off his shoulders and cupped his free hand around Genji’s face, tilting Genji’s chin up till they were eye level, his dark brown eyes boring into the illuminated green strip of his visor. ‘Skin and bone or metal and wires, don’t make a difference: don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You wear the armour. It ain't the other way round.’

Genji huffed a small breath, almost a laugh, and nodded. McCree stepped in closer, his arms wrapping around Genji’s shoulders and pulling him close in a fierce embrace; Genji met him halfway, looping his arms around his back and gripping his serape tightly in his fists. Genji’s head fit comfortably tucked under McCree’s chin, and McCree let it rest there, ignoring how the edges dug into his skin as they stood, statuesque, in the hug.

They remained locked in each other's arms for several long, silent heartbeats, before Genji finally withdrew, stepping back.

‘So,’ Genji murmured, breaking the silence between them.

‘So,’ McCree repeated. His hands dropped, settling against his hips as they stared at each other. ‘So.’

‘Where will you go?’ Genji asked, as if afraid to hear the answer. McCree shrugged, looking out through the gates as Genji had done, his gaze on the horizon far off down the road.

‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘Honestly never thought that far ahead. Guess it’ll just be wherever the wind takes me; just a wandering soul on lesser travelled roads.’

Genji hummed, the small, sad smile evident in his voice. ‘Try to stay out of trouble.’

McCree laughed, shouldering his duffel bag and drawing a cigarillo from his pocket.

‘Well, you know me, Genji,’ he said with a smile and a wink. ‘I’m a “by the book” kinda fella.’

‘The condensed version.’

‘Hey now, I’m offended, that anyway to see your friend off?’ he joked, the smile straining his cheeks. He shook his head, placing the cigarillo between his lips and lighting it, cupping one hand around the warm orange flame to protect it. He clicked it shut, and pocketed it.

‘Well, partner, I suppose this is it.’

‘I suppose it is, McCree.’

A pause, the seconds ticking between them. He couldn’t stay much longer; technically he was now trespassing on a high-security property, and he didn’t want to test his luck risking becoming a felon too soon. Genji said nothing, watching him patiently from behind his visor, now unreadable.

‘Take care, Genji,’ he said at last, holding out his hand between them.

‘Take care, Jesse,’ Genji returned, gripping his hand and they shook, short and firm before letting each other go. Genji stepped back, his hands on his hips. McCree looked at Genji one last time down the length of the smouldering cigarillo, offering a short nod before he turned, and walked out the gates.

He heard the grate of metal as they closed behind him, the rustle of leaves as the wind whispered through the boughs. He paused on the road outside and inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders as if released from a great burden. He swallowed fear and confusion and worry down with a drag on his cigarillo as his footsteps clicked rhythmically against the road, a soft whistle on his lips as he disappeared into the night, never looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to visit me on [tumblr](http://aluxra.tumblr.com)


End file.
